


Blanchefleur

by coralysendria



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale), Snow White - All Media Types
Genre: Diary/Journal, Epistolary, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Historical Fantasy, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralysendria/pseuds/coralysendria
Summary: Excerpts from the diary of Nicodème du Bois, self-exiled minor French nobleman, alchemist, and grandfather.





	Blanchefleur

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an original work, a retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I realize that the tags are mostly German, but it's a French setting. This is unbeta'd and it has been many, many years since I last studied French, so any mistakes are purely my own.

From the journals of Nicodème du Bois

6 mars 1575

I dreamed again last night, as every night for the past fortnight, of blood on snow in a shadowy wood. Though the dream feels prophetic, I cannot unravel the portent.

I do not know why I should be dreaming of snow; the winter is past: the trees have begun to bud, and the first shy flowers have begun to bloom in the sheltered places.

9 mars 1575

Marie, the wife of Jacques Dumas, whose farm is nearest to my forest retreat, was by today to trade bread and cheese for the joint unguent. She told me that Isabelle is finally pregnant. I wonder if Anselme will send word.

7 avril 1575

My experiments all go awry today. I am still plagued by the dreams.

15 juillet 1575

Martin Chasseur, the gamekeeper at the manor, came to fetch me yesterday. Although anyone who did not know him better would think he was as stoic as always, I, who have known him since he was a boy, could see that he was nearly in a panic.

"M'sieur Nicodème," he called as soon as he saw me weeding the vegetable patch -- a task that is getting to be too much for me; I must soon create a servant to do it for me -- "you must come. M'sieur Anselme summons you!"

I sat back on my heels and tiredly mopped my brow. "And what is so urgent, Martin?"

"It is Madame Isabelle. She has been in labor since yesterday morning and the babe has not yet been born. The midwife thinks that they will both be lost."

I bowed my head. "That is in God's hands, Martin. I cannot change what God has ordained."

"Please, M'sieur. I am to tell you that M'sieur Anselme begs you to use your sorcery on Madame's behalf. Or, if you cannot help Madame, for the child, then."

I sighed and levered myself to my feet. It was not fair to Martin to make him carry the message that I had no sorcery to help with childbirth. I could only speak to my son directly. 

Martin had brought horses, but even on horseback, it took some time to reach the manor. In order to please his wife, my son had sent me nearly a half day's travel away to our hunting lodge deep in the forest. Not far enough for Isabelle, even so. She would have preferred to have seen me banished to some other country completely -- farthest Persia, or perhaps the New World.

We did not reach my son's home until after sunset. I knew, as soon as we rode through the gates, that we were too late. The stableman who took the horses was not familiar to me, but I had been gone for many years.

Anselme himself met us at the manor door, his arms clasped protectively around a tiny bundle.

"The child," I said. He nodded. "And Isabelle?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"The child was finally born a few hours ago," he replied, "but the midwife could not save Isabelle. You should be happy, Father. You can finally come home."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy," I growled. "I cannot rejoice in anyone's death. Let me see the child."

He clutched the infant to him defensively at first, then slowly lowered the bundle until I could see a tiny, red thing with night-black hair.

"My daughter," Anselme said. "All I have left of Isabelle. Her name is Blanchefleur; her mother wished it so."

"I give you greeting, little Blanchefleur," I said gently, though the child was asleep and certainly couldn't hear me.

"She had a vision, Isabelle did," Anselme said to me later, as his valet and I deliberately got him drunk. It wouldn't help in the long run, but would ease his pain and allow him to sleep tonight, at least.

"Indeed?"

"Oui. She was at her needlework and pricked her finger. There was blood on the linen, and she wished for a child red as blood, white as snow, black as ebony. She dreamed every night during her pregnancy, always the same. Blood on snow in a shadowed wood."

I did not allow Anselme to see how shocked I was that Isabelle's dream should so closely match my own.

Finally Anselme slept; his valet André and I made sure that he was as comfortable as could be. "I would like to speak to the midwife," I told André.

"I will arrange it, m'sieur," he replied, "but it will have to be tomorrow, as she has been sent home."

"Has a wetnurse been arranged for the child?"

"Oui, m'sieur. She is in good hands; Martin Chasseur's daughter is caring for her."

"Très bien. Thank you for your help this evening, André."

"Allow me to conduct you to your chamber, m'sieur."

"Merci, but I can find my way, I think."

"As you wish, m'sieur."

I wandered the manor a bit, the halls and chambers so familiar to me that I needed no light. And yet I did not regret leaving. I was comfortable in my little home in the woods, with only the animals and trees to disturb me in my work, and no priests looking over my shoulder. I wondered if Père Matthieu were still in residence, but had no desire to go looking for him. I would discover soon enough if he were -- the commotion when he learned that the safely banished old sinner had returned, summoned by the lord himself ... it might be amusing to witness, but I did not envy my son the penance he would have to do to satisfy the priest.

At Anselme's order, my old chamber at the base of my tower had been readied for my use. As I locked myself in for the night, I found my gaze wandering to the inner door. The key was where I had left it. My workroom was -- surprisingly -- undisturbed, what tools I had left behind still in place. A thick layer of dust lay on everything and the room smelled musty, but Isabelle's hysterics and Père Matthieu's preaching must have ended when they saw the rump end of my horse.

It mattered not, of course. I had replaced all of the implements I had left behind, so there was nothing here that mattered to me now, nothing I would need to smuggle out tomorrow. I left the room with a sigh, somewhat surprised to find myself feeling no pangs of longing for my old tower.

I spoke briefly with the midwife in the morning. Agnès was a tough old thing, older than I by a decade at least, gnarled like an ancient tree and strong with the knowledge and wisdom of her craft. She had attended Isabelle all through her pregnancy.

"A vision?" She looked at me with her wise, deep eyes. "Oui, m'sieur, she spoke to me of it once. Only once. She said that she knew the child would be a daughter and that her name would be Blanchefleur. But such fancies are common among pregnant women; you must not set too much stock in it."

"Was there any indication before she went into labor that the birth would be so hard?"

Agnès shook her head. "Non, m'sieur. Though...." She stopped, looked around as though to make sure she was not overheard and spoke very quietly. "I made the usual observances after the birth, and I fear some danger to the child. Not for some time, and I do not know from what."

I nodded. Agnès offered me this warning as a professional courtesy, one practitioner to another. After all, midwifery was as much an art and craft as alchemy, and we had helped one another before. Not to mention that she had presided at the birth of my own child.

"I will talk to my son," I murmured, "but I cannot guard the child myself; Père Matthieu will not rest as long as I remain in the manor."

Agnès snorted. "That one. Blind. Like all his kind."

"But dangerous, if provoked," I cautioned her.

She reached out and patted my hand. "Don't you worry about old Agnès. When it's my time, I am not afraid to go, no matter how difficult the first step."

When Agnès had gone, I looked in on Blanchefleur. The child's eyes were an astonishing blue; I knew they would remain that color. The night-black hair she might lose, but those eyes would enchant more than her grand-père. "Hello, chérie," I whispered. "I will do my best to watch over you, though what good I can do from so far away, I do not know."

Mathilde, Martin's daughter, a plain, good-natured girl, was the child's wetnurse and, for now, nanny as well. Her own child lay in another, not quite as grand cradle nearby. "Don't you worry, m'sieur, I'll take good care of her."

I smiled gently at her, somewhat surprised that she wasn't afraid of me. "I know you will, child."

Anselme was staring blankly at his breakfast when I entered his chamber, but roused when I told him I was leaving.

"But you cannot, Father. Not until after the funeral."

"Think, Anselme. Père Matthieu's head would spin about on his shoulders and then split in twain should I walk into his chapel, and you know very well that Isabelle would not approve. It is best if I just go back to my home. I have looked in on your daughter this morning; she is in good hands. You know where to find me if you truly need me, so there is no need for me to remain, disrupting your household."

"What will I do, Father? I love her."

"Oh, my son. You'll do what I did when your sainted mother died. You'll go on. You have a daughter to care for, and the needs of the manor will not stop even though your beloved has left you." I did not mention that he was yet young and might find another bride.

His shoulders slumped, but he nodded.

And so I left him. Martin Chasseur escorted me home.

3 octobre 1575

Since returning from the manor, I have been considering the necessity of servants. Human servants would be a difficulty at best, as even the irreligious tend to become upset by what they see in an alchemist's workroom. But I have been reading Paracelsus again, and I suspect that an homunculus or two would be just the thing, provided I can make them large enough to be truly useful.

1 novembre 1575

My first attempt at an homunculus was not successful, but I managed to salvage most of the materials. I will make another attempt.

15 novembre 1575

I have forgotten for many months my promise to keep an eye on Blanchefleur, but finally remembered to look in on her today. Mathilde was bouncing her on a knee while the child gurgled in delight. She really does seem to have merited the name Isabelle bequeathed her: her skin is quite pale and her hair remains dark as that shadowed wood. Though perhaps that was a quirk of the scrying bowl.

In any event, she seems healthy and happy. I must try to remember to look in on her more often.

17 novembre 1575

My second attempt at an homunculus has not gone any better than my first. Apparently more study is necessary before I try again.

29 novembre 1575

Eureka! as Archimedes, fresh from his bath, cried. I have succeeded in creating an homunculus. He is quite compact, no larger than a five year old child; my difficulty was in trying to create something my own height -- though I am not too terribly much taller than he. Whatever spirit animates him, he is capable of learning, though after five days, he has yet to speak. Perhaps he will not be able. Even though he is an unensouled creature, it seemed unkind not to give him a name, so I have called him Benjamin.

He is quite tireless and seems to need sleep not at all, though he does need sustenance: a few radishes seem to content him. I am not certain if he will prove useful in my alchemical studies, but he has already proven quite useful in the garden and around the cottage. 

Whether he can help in my studies or not, at least I can now get on with them, without worrying so much about keeping body and soul together through the winter.

15 juillet 1576

Blanchefleur is a year old today. I looked into the scrying bowl to find Mathilde giving her a new toy. My son stood nearby; it was the first time I have seen him with the child since the night she was born. She seemed well-grown and happy.

9 septembre 1585

Marie Dumas brought a loaf of bread and a small cheese today. Though she is a kind and thoughtful woman, she really came because all the other gossips of her acquaintance had already heard her news. Otherwise, she would not have made the trek through the forest, for she has been a bit lame these past few years. No doubt my stunned reaction was payment enough for her effort.

Anselme is to be married in only two weeks. The woman is from the south, Marie thought, though she could not remember precisely. Her name is Sabine. It seems plain to me that Anselme has no intention of inviting me to his wedding. I have had no word from him since I left him the day after Blanchefleur's birth. But ... since hearing Marie's news, I have had an odd feeling about this Sabine. I think I must see her for myself.

29 septembre 1585

I am not one to use the word "witch" unadvisedly, but it certainly applies to my new belle-fille. I do not know what Anselme can possibly have been thinking to marry this woman, but it is done -- and by Père Matthieu, no less. She has charmed him as well.

I arrived at the church in time to see the happy couple approach. Blanchefleur walked behind the bride, holding a bouquet of wildflowers. It is said that a bride is always beautiful, but my granddaughter's beauty, even at her tender age, far eclipses that of her new stepmother. Blanchefleur's simple red dress was very striking against her dark hair and pale skin. Sabine, however, was as overblown as a red rose on the verge of fading. She is, in all things, Blanchefleur's opposite. She wore her exquisite mass of blonde curls loose, with the traditional wreath perched atop her head. While Blanchefleur's eyes are a deep blue, Sabine's -- perhaps reflecting the cold spirit I perceived within her -- are icy and nearly colorless. She wore a gown as costly and over-embroidered as Blanchefleur's was plain; no doubt several seamstresses labored for months in order to finish it.

Anselme looked neither to left nor right; he moved almost like the homonculi do in their first few days, before the spirits in them truly begin to learn and grow. Blanchefleur kept her eyes downcast. After the vows had been said, Sabine turned to the assembled manor-folk and the expression on her face was not one of happiness, but of triumph. I fear trouble has come to my son's home. 

I was not able to approach them in the feasting that followed, so I sought out Martin Chasseur, instead. I would have bespoken Madame Agnès, but that worthy beldame has gone to her eternal rest. 

Martin had dour news for me. "Mathilde has been dismissed as the demoiselle's nurse."

"But why?"

"Madame Sabine feels that a peasant is not a fitting companion for a nobleman's daughter." Martin's mouth twisted bitterly. "They were barely betrothed before she began making changes. Though it is always m'sieur Anselme's voice which speaks, the words are hers. She has taken over your apartments, m'sieur, and we see odd lights in the tower windows most nights. She is a devil in human guise. I fear for the harm she will wreak here."

I could give Martin no more than a sympathetic ear and a few concerned noises. I cannot combat a true sorceress, if such she be. God preserve my son and granddaughter.

13 decembre 1585

Snow flies. The wood is winter-silent, but I have Benjamin and his five brothers to keep me company. Even the youngest of them has learned to speak some. Our conversations are not terribly philosophical, but at least they relieve the tedium of winter nights.

This evening, however, I bade them all be silent while I scryed my son's home. I brought out my bowl, as usual, and filled it with water, but no matter how I pushed, I could not see within the manor. I could see around it -- I saw Martin Chasseur, his daughter Mathilde, the town. Looking farther afield, I saw the king himself in his feasting hall. But I could not see into my own former home. Only darkness met my gaze. 

What has that woman done?

14 avril 1586

My son is dead. His widow buried him almost immediately, so I cannot even go to him.

Jacques Dumas, who brought the word, tells me it was a fall. Stairs, he said. The only stairs long and steep enough to kill a man would be the stairs of my tower. Anselme never went into that tower. What was he doing there?

And what of Blanchefleur?

1 juin 1586

That creature has tried to kill my granddaughter. There is now no doubt in my mind that she killed my son as well. 

Martin Chasseur brought Blanchefleur to me last night. She greeted me prettily enough when Martin explained that I was her grand-père and would take care of her from now on, but she was clearly nervous to be left with an old man she does not know. After we made her comfortable in the house, Martin asked to speak to me outdoors.

"Madame Sabine called me into the tower yesterday, m'sieur. She told me to take the demoiselle into the forest today and make sure an accident befell her. 'Bring me her heart as proof that she's dead,' she commanded. What sort of woman could ask such a thing?" he demanded.

"You've seen more of her than I," I answered. "What is your thought?"

He hesitated. Martin has never liked to speak ill of anyone. "I think she's a witch," he said, lowering his voice. "She spends most of her time isolated in that tower, coming forth only to issue orders. There have been strange occurrences since she came and one or two deaths -- all fair youths. And look at the demoiselle's hands -- you'll see how cracked and red they are. Madame has been making her scrub floors and do chambermaid work."

I frowned. "She has been making my granddaughter into a servant?"

He nodded. "Please come back to the manor, m'sieur. She has no right to it if both you and the demoiselle are alive."

I shook my head. "I gave over all my rights to it when Isabelle insisted that I leave. It is likely that Anselme also named this woman as his heir. No. I will keep Blanchefleur here with me in the forest. We'll give you ... the deer's heart to take back to Sabine." Fortunately, Yves -- another of my half dozen homunculi -- had brought in a deer just today. "But then you and your family must leave, Martin. If she ever discovered that you had not done as she asked, the consequences could be terrible."

Martin shook his head. "Please, m'sieur. Are you sure there is nothing more you can do?"

"Martin," I said, as gently as I could. "Alchemy is a practice about life, not death. I do not have the skill or power to combat this Madame Sabine."

His shoulders fell. "Then it shall be as you say, m'sieur. Farewell." He collected the deer's heart and departed. I wish him and his family well; I fear I shall never see him again.

8 juin 1585

Blanchefleur is a delight. Easily the prettiest child I have ever seen -- fulfilling the dream of blood in the snowy, dark wood, she shows a startling intelligence and maturity for one of her tender years. It took her a day or so to become used to me, and I asked the homunculi to remain scarce until she became more comfortable with her odd grand-père. Instead of being afraid of them, however, she was delighted. She is already teaching Yves and Luc, the two youngest, to play games with her.

She has shown quite an interest in my work. I believe I shall teach her to read and write; it will give her something to occupy her time. While she may not find living here with me a burden, as she grows older, I am certain that will change.

2 avril 1595

Madame Sabine has become aware that Blanchefleur is alive. And it seems that she is not one to let prey escape.

I walked to the edge of the wood yesterday to visit Jacques Dumas and trade Marie's lotion for news and a few necessities. I allowed Blanchefleur to accompany me, but made her stay in the wood while I crossed the open fields.

Jacques invited me to share a companionable beer with him. I agreed; I would not wish to alienate Jacques and Marie as they are one of my principal sources of news. I lingered a trifle longer than I should have, confident that Blanchefleur would amuse herself with picking wildflowers or watching squirrels, so it was late in the afternoon before I returned to the spot where I had left her.

She lay in the middle of the path, apparently dead. I was at first so distraught that I did not see the ornate bodice she wore, but at the same time I realized that she was still breathing, though quite shallowly, it struck me that she had not been wearing that garment when we set out this morning. It was laced most cruelly tight, nor could I undo the laces: I finally cut them with my knife. Blanchefleur immediately began to breathe more deeply and color returned to her pale cheeks.

"Grand-père?" she said, upon waking. "Where is the peddler?"

"What peddler, child?" I helped her to a sitting position.

"There was an old peddler woman, grand-père. I told her that I could buy nothing from her, but she insisted on lacing me into the prettiest bodice...." Her dreamy voice betrayed what I had feared for many years, that she was becoming dissatisfied at being kept in the wood. But an even greater fear gripped me when I realized that the peddler woman must have been in Madame Sabine's employ -- if not Sabine her own self.

At long last, I had to tell her the story of how her father died, how Madame Sabine had tried to have Martin Chasseur kill her. She wept at the thought of her father murdered. 

"You must never speak to strangers, my child. Never. Always hide unless I am with them."

"Oui, grand-père."

"Now, child, do you think you can walk home, or shall I make us a fire?"

"Oh, grand-père, I am ready to go home."

Ah, the resilience of youth! Blanchefleur got to her feet, then helped me to mine and we walked home through the gathering twilight.

I must find some way of defending Blanchefleur from her stepmother. What a great pity that Agnès died so many years ago. I could use her advice.

5 avril 1595

Careful scrying indicates that a wisewoman who may be able to help lives on the other side of the wood. I do not wish to leave Blanchefleur alone again, but I cannot take her with me; it would not be safe for her beyond the wood. How could I have reached the age of wisdom and not have enough knowledge to defend my own granddaughter?

10 avril 1595

Madame Agathe is an ancient crone -- some years older than I -- who lives in a small cottage at the very edge of the wood. Her folk are beholden to the son of my old friend Gilles. Agathe slyly mentioned that Gilles's son Alain has a son about Blanchefleur's age -- Gérard, Géraud -- something of that nature. Like my friend Agnès, Agathe serves the village, and occasionally the manor, as midwife, healer, and wisewoman. P^egrave;re Lazare is somewhat more broad-minded than our own Père Matthieu, and looks the other way when she fulfills the latter function.

She had heard of Anselme's death and heard also rumors about Sabine, but had never seen her. "She has a perilous name," she said in her raspy voice. "You must be very careful."

"Is there any advise you can give me? My own skills are not enough to protect my granddaughter."

"The charming little Blanchefleur? I have heard of this child -- so beautiful that the birds themselves sing her lullabies. This great beauty is what Madame the Stepmother cannot abide. She must be the most beautiful creature in all the land. There have been deaths, n'est-ce pas?"

I recalled then, that Martin had once mentioned the deaths of young people. She nodded sagely when I related the story. "I can make a charm to guard the little one, I think. Come back in a fortnight."

Nothing I said could persuade her to move any more quickly. "You know better than that," she scolded me. "Such things cannot be rushed. A man of your talents and learning should know that."

And so I came home empty-handed, save for the promise of a charm that may or may not work.

26 avril 1595

Agathe wrought well. Even I can feel the power of the charm she cleverly made into a necklace for Blanchefleur. The child delights in wearing it. I have told her to never remove it.

15 septembre 1595

It has been a quiet summer, but I worry for my granddaughter. Aside from the danger from her stepmother, I fear that Blanchefleur is less and less happy living here in the woods with me, even with the homunculi for company. I see her glancing often toward the west, toward the end of the wood where lives the young Gérard ... or is it Géraud? I would like to allow her to meet him; it is unfair that she should live like this. I wonder if Agathe can help, the sly thing? Matchmaking is one of her many pursuits.

28 september 1595

I dispatched Benjamin to Madame Agathe with a message. He is the eldest of the homunculi and the most used to speech. He returned with word that Agathe will arrange to have the young Géraud at a clearing near the edge of the forest in a week's time.

5 octobre 1595

Today's outing was a complete success. I think Blanchefleur was as delighted to meet Agathe as she was to meet young Géraud -- it has been many years since she saw someone other than me or the homunculi (not counting Sabine's peddler). Trees fence the area where we met, a stream wanders past on one side, but as it is a popular hunting stop and lovers' trysting spot, one can find reasonably comfortable logs to sit on. Agathe and I settled under the trees, acting as chaperones, while our charges walked in the meadow.

They do make a handsome pair. Blanchefleur daily grows more lovely, despite her ink-stained fingers and wisps escaping from her braid -- though I had persuaded her to wash her hands and face and rebraid her hair before we left. Géraud is a strapping young fellow, a year or so older than Blanchefleur, and as blond as she is dark. He appeared quite smitten with her; Agathe gave me a knowing smirk before they left. 

We agreed to a picnic in the same spot in a few days. Blanchefleur's eyes sparkled, color stained her cheeks and she sang softly to herself as she completed her chores this evening. If Géraud was similarly impressed with my granddaughter, I imagine that Agathe is smirking yet.

9 octobre 1595

Blanchefleur and Géraud spent the afternoon making calf's eyes at one another, hardly paying attention to anything else. I'm not certain, but I think I may have caught Agathe similarly making eyes at me.

The thought is somewhat...disquieting.

15 octobre 1595

I have given Blanchefleur permission to visit with Géraud without me, as long as she takes Benjamin or one of the others with her. Am I allowing this merely to avoid seeing Agathe again?

26 décembre 1595

Blanchefleur has fallen in love with Géraud -- not a suprising development, given that he is the only person her age that she knows. He called here for Christmas, which I am sure did not delight his father. He assures me that Agathe intervened on his behalf. Dare I consider a marriage? Would Blanchefleur be safe married to Alain's son? Is there any place she can be safe from her stepmother?

7 janvier 1596

Somehow Sabine has learned about Géraud and Blanchefleur. I knew my granddaughter would not be safe.

Géraud has been enchanted by Blanchefleur's glossy black hair since the day they met. Yesterday, for Twelfth Night, he brought her a gorgeously carved comb. The satiny light wood looked especially pleasing against her dark hair, but she had only been wearing it for a few moments before she began complaining of a terrible headache. She then began having trouble breathing. As her laces were already loosened, we removed the comb and unbraided her hair. As soon as the comb left her head, she began breathing more easily, and not long after that, the pain in her head was only a lingering ache. I sent her to bed anyway, with Géraud adding his voice to mine.

I turned the comb over in my hands. "This is a lovely piece of worksmanship, my boy. Who carved it?"

"Alas, m'sieur, I do not know. I purchased it from a wandering peddler woman. It seemed like a perfect gift for Blanchefleur. She will be all right, will she not?"

I reassured the boy and sent him home, with a prayer of thanks for Agathe's spellcraft; clearly her charm had protected Blanchefleur long enough for us to remove the poisoned comb.

I burned it, but took care to do so outdoors. I did not want its noisome influence in the cottage any longer than necessary and certainly did not want any smoke from it circulating near my sleeping granddaughter.

Something must be done about this woman -- this witch. She has killed my son and now she attempts to kill my granddaughter. She must be stopped. I must find a way.

28 fevrier 1596

Young Géraud visited again a fortnight since, for the Feast of St. Valentine. He brought no gifts from unknown peddler women; instead, he brought a bright red ribbon begged from his mother. The shade is lovely on Blanchefleur and she blushed quite becomingly when she accepted it. I think we must listen for wedding bells this summer.

1 mars 1596

Wedding bells there may be, but it will have to be cautiously managed. Blanchefleur's interest in alchemy is a dangerous one in the outside world. As sheltered as she has been these past few years, and despite her stepmother's animosity, she does not realize how perilous the world can be.

14 avril 1596

She has won. My Blanchfleur is dead.

20 avril 1396

We have not buried her. With the homunculi and Géraud's help, I have fashioned a sarcophagus for Blanchefleur of purest crystal. There she lies, incorruptible, in the garden, surrounded by the roses she loved. Géraud visits daily, spending hours sitting in the garden, staring at her, silently weeping. As he left this evening, he demanded of me to tell him how this could happen, and I told him the whole sordid history. I thought he would fling himself immediately at Sabine, but I was able to talk sense into him. 

25 avril 1596

I have discovered the agency of Blanchefleur's death. We found her, lying at the side of the path, but there was no sign of what had befallen her.

Scrying into the past is not something I have often done, but it is not impossible for me. Unlike the fluid, constantly shifting future, the past is written and cannot be changed. With my bowl and a little alchemical aid, I can read it as easily as the pages from my journal, and so it was last evening. Ten days had passed since Blanchefleur's murder, but I knew that such an act would still be written on the pages of the world. At dusk, I filled the bowl with fresh water, drank the compound I had prepared earlier and retired to the fireside, bowl in hand.

At first, as is always the case, I saw random images: the outside of the manor, Agathe attending the birth of a child, the faces of my servants. As my concentration narrowed, I saw Blanchefleur as she was that morning, singing as she finished her chores, tying the red ribbon in her hair and setting off to see Géraud. They were meeting for a picnic luncheon in the clearing, and Agathe and I had deemed it safe enough to let them meet unchaperoned -- easier so than having them sneaking off to do so anyway. Géraud had reached the clearing first and was waiting for her, a blanket spread in the sun and a leathern sack at his side. As Blanchefleur came in sight, he sprang up to meet her at the edge of the clearing, taking her hands in his and kissing them. She lowered her eyes, blushing, but obviously pleased.

I restrained my tears as I watched their gentleness with one another; the salt would render the water in the scrying bowl unusable. At last, it was time for them to part, which they did with tender kisses. Blanchefleur returned to the forest path and Géraud returned to the village.

As Blanchefleur walked, a child came toward her from within the forest, a child I had never seen before. Blonde-haired, rosy-cheeked, the child's expression was one of innocence and good-will, but I, who had more experience of the evils of the world than my young granddaughter, could see the malice in the dark eyes. The child spoke and I regretted that I could not hear what she said. Blanchefleur replied and made as if to pass the child, who reached into a basket and brought out an apple. Round and perfect, as rosy-cheeked as herself, with nary a blemish to be seen. Even seeing it in a vision, my mouth watered for a taste of it. Poor Blanchefleur had no chance. She went down on one knee to accept the vile thing, raised it to her lips and bit deeply into it.

In the next instant, she crumpled to the ground. The apple rolled from her limp hand.

The child laughed, changing as she did so, until Sabine stood over Blanchefleur, laughing in malicious delight. She picked the apple up, tucked it into the basket she still carried, and hurried off, leaving behind the dead body of my granddaughter.

The tears fell too thickly now to stop them, but I had seen enough. Sabine had finally managed to get past our vigilance and Agathe's charm.

15 mai 1596

A miracle has occurred. One does not think of miracles happening to one's self or those one knows, but that is surely what has happened here.

Yesterday morning, Géraud came to sit with Blanchefleur as always. Around midmorning, he approached me, his manner that of one begging a boon.

"M'sieur Nicodème," he said quietly, wringing his hands together as though nervous. "My father has asked me not to come here any longer. He thinks ... he thinks I should get on with my life!" The last came in an angry rush, but the high flush in his face faded, leaving him looking weary and defeated, a mien I knew I shared.

"There is naught you can do for her, lad." I patted his shoulder gently. "Your father may be right. It may be time for you to go on."

"Never!" he cried. "I must have her." The face he turned on me now was hectic, fevered and bright. "Please. Let me take Blanchefleur with me. I will keep her in honor, with guards and servants to look after her, fresh flowers brought to her twice a day! I will see that everyone loves her and honors her!"

I sighed heavily. "Lad, lad. Think. Is that truly what you want? Is that what she would want -- for you to devote your life to a memory that you can never let go of because it is always before your face?"

"Please, m'sieur," he said brokenly. "There is no life for me, in any case. Please...."

In the end, he wore me down; I could not stand against his grief. He had no way of carrying the heavy crystal casket on his own, so I commanded my servants to hoist her up on their shoulders and the nine of us began the long trek back to Géraud's home, with the lad in the lead, then the homunculi bearing Blanchefleur, still in the bloom of youth, then myself, stooped and leaning heavily on my stick. It was late afternoon by the time we reached the edge of the forest, and that is where one of the homunculi -- Bernard -- stepped into an animal hole. He pitched forward, dropping his portion of the casket. The others could not support the weight without him and they all tumbled to the ground. The crash of the casket echoed in the trees. I hurried to assure myself that none of the homunculi was seriously hurt; there were scrapes, cuts and bruises, but not even Bernard was seriously injured.

Not so, the crystal casket. The lid had shifted from the base and dumped Blanchefleur's body to the ground.

Géraud had already reached her and was rocking the body in his arms, weeping, as though the tumble could have done her any further harm. I stood over him for a few moments, waiting for his weeping to subside.

"Lad, come. No harm has been done. Let's get everything back together; we're nearly to your home."

"Grand-père?" Disuse made her voice raspy, and the sound of it nearly sent me to my own grave. "Grand-père? Géraud? Where are we? Géraud, why are you weeping?"

Géraud made a strangled noise and, instead of shoving the child away, as I would have expected, only held her closer, whispering over and over that she had come back to him.

I knelt and took the child's hand. "My dear, are you well?"

"Bien sur, Grand-père. What has happened?"

I could see by her eyes that this was no device of the Evil One, nothing of Sabine. And then I noted a large bit of apple lying in her lap. The fall had done it! She had not swallowed the bite of Sabine's poisoned apple -- it had worked prematurely, while the flesh was still in her mouth. Agathe's charm had protected her again, and Bernard's fall had dislodged the apple.

"Oh, praise God," I could not help whispering fervently. "Praise God!"

Géraud at last released her, holding her briefly at arm's length. "I cannot live without you," he said, almost fiercly. "Please say you'll marry me."

A tremulous smile spread across her face and she glanced in my direction. A plan flashed into my brain as though divinely inspired; I nodded slightly in permission.

"Mais oui," she said, teasingly. "Of course I will marry you. Who else?"

Géraud pulled her to him again and she seemed only too happy to allow him to hold her. I turned away, to organize the homunculi and to give the children a moment alone. Under my direction, the homunculi picked up the crystal casket, settled the lid firmly back on the base, and set off for home, once more bearing it on their shoulders. Then I turned back to Blanchefleur and her new fiancé.

"Come, my children. We have much to do and it must be done quickly." I explained my plan to them; Blanchefleur's face paled even more as she realized that she had been dead for more than a month, but she bravely faced what must come next. Géraud listened attentively and nodded several times.

"Will your father agree to all this, lad?"

"I believe so, m'sieur, and I am certain that we can convince Père Lazare of the need for haste."

We set off for Agathe's home, where that worthy dame, not surprisingly, waited for us, sitting outside with her walking stick to hand and her cloak wrapped around her.

"Come, now, come," she said. "We cannot be certain how long it will take the evil stepmother to notice that the stepchild has returned to life. We must prevent her from finding out. Come!" She stumped off in the direction of the manor.

And so we laid the entire case before Géraud's father, Alain, whom I had known as a boy, when his father was lord here and I was lord of my own manor -- before Anselme married Isabelle and I was exiled to the forest. Alain looked upon Blanchefleur, saw the sweetness of her expression and her great beauty, and raised an eyebrow at his wife, Sidonie, who sat nearby.

"You poor child," Sidonie said. "What you have been through all these years. Of course we will help."

Pére Lazare was called and the need for a hasty and relatively quiet wedding explained. He, too, acquiesced, and the wedding was scheduled for three days hence. In the meantime, Blanchefleur stays with Géraud and his family, while I return to the cottage to prepare something ... special ... for Sabine, who is to be invited as a guest.

19 mai 1596

It was a charming wedding. No mention was made to Madame Sabine of the identity of the bride; she was invited as a neighboring landowner and, as I suspected, she came in order to maintain the fiction that she was a fine, upstanding widow. As each guest entered the hall, Alain and Sidonie presented them with a gift. Blanchefleur and I stayed well hidden, so as not to spook the prey.

Sabine's gift was a pair of shoes, beautifully embroidered, which I knew she could not resist wearing. Cold iron had been inserted into the heels so that she might work no spells, and the inner surfaces had been rubbed with a solution made from the bit of apple that had flown from Blanchefleur's mouth.

Even as she entered the chapel, we could see that the shoes were beginning to work upon her. She was pale, except for a storm of unnatural color upon her cheeks. Her eyes glittered feverishly. But still she did not seem to suspect a thing.

Blanchefleur wore a veil over her face until the very end of the ceremony, when Géraud lifted it away and turned her to present her to the guests. When she saw the face of my granddaughter, Sabine paled even further, stood up ... and, with a great cry, fell dead.

"God's will be done," Père Lazare intoned. The body was hauled away and immediately burned, shoes and all.

Blanchefleur is rightful lady of the manor, of course, and the property will be added to that which Géraud will eventually inherit. In the meantime, the children will live there, raising their family in peace. My tower will be thoroughly cleansed and, perhaps, bricked up. Or perhaps not.

I will spend the rest of my days in my cottage in the wood, which will seem empty without Blanchefleur, but ... as absurd as it may sound, I have already become accustomed to it without her presence. And, Agathe has been making moon-eyes in my direction again. Perhaps the time has come to discover what two old souls such as we can accomplish together.


End file.
